K. James breaks our Blart

Kevin James and I have at least three things in common. First, we both graduated from Ward Melville High School in East Setauket, N.Y., repping Strong Island more than your average guido with a greasy fade and Timberlands. Second, we both are incapable of growing full beards. His lacks in the cheek department; mine in the moustache department. And third, we both have experience being fat. Whereas he has been consistently fat since high school, personal preference for Jenny Craig over Betty Crocker gave me the ability to get that wiggle without the jiggle. I always avoided the topic of fatness, shrouding my rolls in black for slimming purposes instead of, say, wearing a tank top while smothering my body in oil and bronzer. But who knows, maybe people would have thought I was funny if I just embraced my fat and did the truffle shuffle or some shit.

Well, at least that’s the daily bread that “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” throws on the table. For a solid hour and a half, Kevin James eats, falls, doesn’t fit through things, eats some more, cries a little bit, falls in love with a skinny chick, fights people and falls some more, all very fatly. Elevator Plot: Rent-a-cop yearns to be a real cop ends up capturing the heart of hot kiosk employee after saving a mall from parkour/extreme sports bandits. Jokes about illegal aliens ensue along with one laugh thanks to some Indian dude who may or may not be a pedophile.

Part of me, my heart to be more specific, wept as borderline offensive remarks and visuals found its way into Steve Carr’s mise-en-scene. Not the immigrant jokes — those, after all, fuel the kind of nationalism we need right now. I’m talking about the fat jokes. Kevin James cannot be THAT fat. If I were still fat, I’d be offended. Like, “Hey guy, I didn’t buy a ticket for ‘The Jazz Singer Part II: The Fat Lady.’ ”

And why did this movie make bank at the box office? Does Kevin James’ probs fake fat really warrant $80,000,000? Perhaps it’s because “Blart” is one of the only comedies in theaters right now. Maybe people just love Kevin James; I mean, how incredible was that movie with him and Adam Sandler that was sort of homophobic? Or is it that America has learned to embrace its incredibly fat self? No. Clearly there is some higher power catapulting the success of this blatantly unfunny movie. Who do we blame? Bernard Madoff.

If Madoff hadn’t jacked all our leisure money we’d still be blowing cash on more extravagant things than a $10 movie. Instead of trying to pull the classic penis-in-the-popcorn trick at the cineplex with that honey you’ve been eyeing, you’d be throwing down some extra money on some homemade GHB and maybe taking your lady out for a post-Toad’s meal at Yorkside. Luckily, thanks to Barack Obama, movies like “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” won’t achieve success in the near future. By keeping a keener eye on those greasy financiers he’s ensuring that the REAL America, aka Richard Levin, will not spend its money on sleazy films and instead will have the necessary funds to floss on some real luxury. Blow and Bitties.

Yes, we can.

(Ed. note: We received the following text from the author three hours later.)